Chapter Eleven

NOORIA

The deep, dangerous voice comes from the shadows beside the bed.

Valentino is sitting in the armchair, fully dressed, one leg crossed over the other, watching me with storm-gray eyes that see straight through every lie I’m about to tell.

My heart slams against my ribs so hard I’m sure he can hear it. The bedroom lights I just turned on cast long shadows across his face, sharpening the scar through his left eyebrow and turning his gray eyes almost black. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t raise his voice. He just sits there like a king who already knows every secret I’m carrying.

A closer look at him shows me the scar is fainter and smaller. What the fuck!

“Where were you?” he asks again, softer this time. Almost gentle. That gentleness shocks me more than any shout ever could.

I swallow hard, fingers twisting in the hem of the oversized black dress shirt I’m still wearing. “I… I went to see my family. My father called. He summoned me home. I didn’t think…”

“You didn’t think.” He cuts me off, but there’s no anger in it. Just quiet disappointment that somehow feels heavier than his usual cold commands. He uncrosses his leg and leans forward, elbows on his knees, gaze never leaving mine. “You left the house without telling me, without a guard, and definitely without permission. After someone sent you a picture of a severed hand with a promise to slit your throat.”

The words land like stones in my stomach. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out.

Valentino rises slowly from the chair. He’s tall, broad, overwhelming even when he’s moving this carefully. He stops right in front of me, close enough that I can smell the faint trace of his cologne and the lingering smoke on his clothes. One hand comes up, knuckles brushing my still-stinging cheek where Baba slapped me.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs. His thumb traces the edge of my jaw with a tenderness that feels completely foreign coming from him. “Did he hit you?”

I nod once, unable to lie when he’s looking at me like this.

His jaw tightens, but his touch stays gentle. “You will never leave this house without my knowledge again, Nooria. Not even for your family. Not even if they beg. You are my wife now. Your safety is mine to protect. Do you understand?”

The softness in his voice undoes something inside me. I expected rage. I expected him to pin me against the wall and fuck the lesson into me the way he did last night. Instead he’s… caring. Almost worried. It shocks the hell out of me.

“I understand,” I whisper.

“Good girl.”

The praise slips out low and warm, and my body reacts before my mind can catch up — a rush of heat pooling low in my belly. Valentino notices. Of course he does. His eyes darken, but the violence I usually see in them is banked tonight. Replaced by something slower. Hungrier. More dangerous because it feels almost loving.

He cups my face with both hands now, tilting it up so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “You scared me tonight,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper. “I came up here expecting to find you asleep and instead the bed was empty. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

Before I can answer, his mouth is on mine.

This kiss is nothing like the brutal ones from before. It’s slow, deep, and devastatingly thorough. His lips move against mine like he’s memorizing the shape of them. His tongue traces the seam of my mouth until I open for him with a soft sigh. He tastes like whiskey and smoke and something darker that’s purely Valentino. One hand slides into my hair, cradling the back of my head while the other slips down my back, pulling me flush against his hard body.

When he finally pulls back, I’m breathless.

“Bed,” he says softly.

I obey without thinking, climbing onto the silk sheets. Valentino follows, crawling over me until his body cages mine. He doesn’t rip my shirt off this time. He unbuttons it slowly, one button at a time, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every inch of skin he reveals — my collarbone, the valley between my breasts, the soft curve of my stomach. When the shirt falls open completely, he looks at me like I’m something sacred.

“So beautiful,” he murmurs against my skin. “My wife. My good girl.”

He kisses lower. Lower. Until his broad shoulders settle between my thighs. He hooks my legs over them, spreading me open like a feast. The first slow drag of his tongue over my folds pulls a broken moan from my throat that echoes off the high ceilings of the bedroom.

“Valentino.. ”

“Shh.” He presses a gentle kiss to my inner thigh. “Let me take care of you tonight.”

Then his mouth is on me again; slow, sensual, worshipful. He licks me like he has all the time in the world, savoring every taste, every tremble. When he sucks my clit into his mouth, my back arches clean off the bed and my moan bounces around the room, loud and shameless. He doesn’t stop. He slides two fingers inside me, curling them slowly while his tongue works in lazy, perfect circles.

The pleasure builds like warm honey — thick, sweet, overwhelming. My hands fist in his dark hair, hips rocking against his face as my moans grow louder, echoing through the quiet mansion. I don’t care who hears. I can’t care. Not when he’s devouring me like this.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans against my pussy, the vibration sending sparks up my spine. “So wet for me already. That’s it, baby. Let the whole house hear how much you love my mouth on you.”

I come with a cry that feels torn from my soul — long, shuddering, endless. He doesn’t stop. He licks me through every aftershock until I’m shaking and oversensitive and whimpering his name like a prayer.

Only then does he rise up, shedding his jacket and shirt in one fluid motion. His body is a masterpiece of muscle and scars, and when he settles between my thighs again, the thick length of him presses hot and heavy against my entrance.

“Look at me,” he commands softly.

I do. His gray eyes lock on mine as he pushes inside me — one slow, deliberate inch at a time. The stretch is exquisite. He fills me completely, bottoming out with a low groan that vibrates against my chest.

“Perfect,” he whispers, kissing me deeply. “You feel so perfect around me. So tight. So warm. Made for me.”

He starts to move with slow, sensual rolls of his hips that drag against every sensitive spot inside me. Every thrust is measured, deep, intentional. He kisses me the entire time, my lips, my jaw, my neck, the bruises he left there before. Between kisses he showers me with praise.

“My beautiful wife… so brave… taking me so well… I’m going to fill you up every night until you’re carrying my baby… you’re mine, Nooria… only mine…”

The words sink into my skin like warm oil. My second orgasm builds slowly this time, coaxed out by his steady rhythm and the constant stream of praise and kisses. When it crashes over me, I cling to his shoulders, moaning his name like it’s the only word I know.

Valentino follows me over the edge with a deep groan, burying himself to the hilt and spilling inside me in hot, pulsing waves. He stays there, forehead pressed to mine, breathing hard.

For a long moment the only sound is our mingled breathing.

Then he kisses me once more — soft, lingering — and pulls out gently. I whimper at the loss, but he’s already scooping me up into his arms like I weigh nothing. He carries me into the enormous marble bathroom, straight to the massive walk-in shower.

Warm water cascades over us as he holds me under the spray. I’m half-dozing against his chest, boneless and sated, while he washes me with careful hands. He lathers my hair, rinses the day’s fear and tears and blood from my skin, and presses soft kisses to my temple the entire time.

“You’re safe,” he murmurs against my wet hair. “I’ve got you.”

I drift off in his arms before the water even turns off, the last thing I feel is his strong heartbeat against my cheek and the quiet certainty that, for tonight at least, the monster is choosing to be my protector.

As the darkness cover me, I wonder what happened to my husband.